


Come to me

by fizzbuzzler



Series: The Wild Hunt [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bloodplay, Conditioning, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Sadistic elves, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 16:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzbuzzler/pseuds/fizzbuzzler
Summary: A real quick one-shot.Based on what happens in my other story "Wild Hunt". And what Caranthir does in those long nights when he has a certain Witcher in his tower.





	Come to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nortonis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nortonis/gifts).



He walked around the naked man hanging from the chain, relishing in the sounds he had managed to coax from him. His long fingered, pale hand slid slowly down the hard muscles on the back of the man, feeling them twitch under his touch.

The Witcher had fought splendidly against what Caranthir threw at him - pain, magic and more pain. The Aen Elle had to become really inventive to break the Vatt’ghern, but he had risen to the task and delighted in it.  
Pressing a fingernail into one of the many scars on the Witcher’s back he waited until he heard a quiet, painful moan before he released the pressure. He had drawn blood. 

Caranthir lifted his hand in front of his eyes and contemplated the drop of bright red liquid that collected at the tip of his nail. Before it could fall down he put the finger in his mouth and couldn’t hold back the moan escaping him at the taste of the man’s blood. He had tasted it numerous times before but it always elicited something like childlike wonder in him. This was life - pure unadulterated life-force, contained within a body and if spilled, the body would ultimately die. And somehow the Witcher’s blood tasted different from the blood of other dh’oine he had had hanging in front of him.

The elven mage knew this was due to the numerous mutations Witcher’s were put through as children. Those and the herbs and potions they drank changed their blood chemistry to something that tasted so much better, more intense and contained infinitely more life force than the blood of regular dh’oine. It also kept the Vatt’ghern alive much longer than any other before him. 

And Caranthir had decided to be careful with him - to keep him alive as long as possible. To only ever lead him close to the edge but never push him over it. The Witcher was just too much fun to play with. 

A movement from the man interrupted Caranthir’s contemplation. The Witcher - what was his name again? Eredin had told him but he had chosen that he wouldn’t need it - slowly lifted his head. So he was not completely gone yet? Caranthir smiled at the thought of having some more time with the human.

“You taste quite wonderfully.” Eredin couldn’t resist the teasing tone - he knew by now how to draw a reaction from the man.

But this time there came nothing - the Witcher just looked at him with his strangely yellow eyes. The slitted pupils blown wide, so they appeared nearly normal. Somehow Caranthir felt that the other man wanted to say something, but was too weak to speak.

Caranthir turned towards a table at the side and grabbed a small vial. Carefully tilting the man’s head back, he emptied the vial into his open mouth and stroked his throat to get him to swallow the contents.  
Then he turned back to his table, knowing that he had to wait for a few minutes before the healing potion took effect.

He knew that it was working when he heard a wet cough behind him, and the Witcher managed to rasp “Not finished for today?”  
His breathing was labored but he continued “Wanna start from the beginning? I am ready when you are.”

The defiance in the voice had Caranthir smile - the Witcher would fight until he was too weak to speak, and even then his eyes would blaze with hatred and disdain, until he eventually fell unconscious.

Turning back to the man hanging from the chain, Caranthir stepped close and let his hand continue across the clammy skin - wet from sweat and blood. His fingers ghosted over the defined muscles of his chest and down his sides, slightly pressing where he knew were some cracked ribs. A hiss of breath was his answer.  
When Caranthir moved behind the man, he could hear his breath hitch - not knowing what was coming but knowing that it would not be good always had that effect. The mage closed the distance between them and pressed his hips against the Witcher’s backside, while holding him with his hand against his stomach. There was nowhere to move for the Vatt’ghern and Caranthir chuckled when the other man could feel his hard cock and tried to twitch away.

He let his other hand slide slowly across the Witcher’s chest and a thin trail of magic emitted from his fingers. The pain had the man groan and rock on the chain as his muscles convulsed.  
The elven mage moved away from the Witcher and began to work on him with renewed energy.  
He knew exactly how far he had to bring the dh’oine before he was ready. 

The healing potion had given him another couple of hours to touch and inflict pain before he would have to stop. Screams and wet moans started to fill the air in the tower room.  
Finally Caranthir saw that it was enough - he lifted a hand to the Witcher’s face and softly moved a white strand of hair away - and the man followed the gentle touch, leaning into it with a quiet sigh. 

The Aen Elle let his hand trail down the human’s body - the pads of his fingers gliding over the hardening nipples on his chest, down the soft trail of hair across his belly to the twitching cock, already half hard. His hand closed gently around the Witcher’s length and a small smile twitched his lips as a moan escaped the man. The rapidly hardening flesh in Caranthir’s hand was further proof that the Witcher was ready.

Gripping his chin with his other hand, the elf lifted the man’s head and looked into his eyes. He saw pain and arousal but behind it was still defiance and disgust. Caranthir lowered his head and slowly licked across the scar across the man’s face, relishing in the feeling that some part of the man was still fighting and that he would hate himself for what was happening. 

With a quick move he removed the bolt that held the shackles to the chain and the Vatt’ghern dropped down. Unable to stand he collapsed on the floor, remaining there, moaning quietly as the pressure on his shoulders and arms was gone so suddenly.

Caranthir moved away a few steps and waited. When the Witcher started moving and tried to lift himself up, the elf bit his lower lip in anticipation.  
“Come to me…” his voice was just a low whisper but he saw the reaction in the body on the floor before he continued “… willingly.”

The Witcher’s hands clenched into fists and his whole body jerked as his muscles wanted to follow the order but he was still fighting. Caranthir saw the pure hate shine from those eerie yellow eyes when the man looked up at him. Slowly the Vatt’ghern rose to his feet and stalked closer.  
The elf’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight - the yellow eyes burning in a fever half crazed from pain, hate and lust. Blood and sweat painting barbaric patterns on the muscled body and the still shackled hands moving as if they were already closing around his throat, choking him to death. The Aen Elle shuddered and moved towards the Witcher, grabbing the hair at the back of his head, diving in and devouring the other man’s mouth in a searing kiss, no longer able to hold himself back. 

The Witcher answered in kind - by now gone too far to be able to fight any longer. Caranthir moved them both to the pallet in a corner of the room and pushed the Witcher down, following immediately. Ignoring the painful moan when his weight pressed on the man’s cracked ribs and open wounds he continued his kisses and let his tongue plunder the Witcher’s mouth. He delighted in the small gasps that came over the other’s lips when his hand found the hard cock between them and started stroking him.

Lifting himself up, Caranthir looked down at the body underneath him as he continued to pull at the hard cock with a grip that must be painful. The Witcher arched his body and lifting his shackled hands over his head he began to thrust into the elf’s hand.  
Licking his lips, Caranthir slowly lowered his mouth and closed his lips around the Vatt’gherns hard, weeping cock. The sound that tore from the Witcher was unearthly beautiful in the elf’s ears.  
He began sucking and licking around the head before he lifted himself up again, looking into eyes that were nearly black from the wide-blown pupils. Caranthir moved up and licked blood and sweat from the Witcher's skin while his hand continued stroking him. Biting hard into a nipple he delighted in the small scream that came from the man and he continued licking the puckered flesh. Feeling how close the Witcher was he started pushing his finger in a small wound on his chest, pressing his fingernail deep into the flesh. Seeing the blood welling up, he sped up the movement of his hand on the Witcher’s engorged cock, clenching his fingers painfully hard around the sensitive flesh, making the man whimper and desperately bucking his hips, trying to find his release. 

With one final shout the pain and pleasure became too much and he came, arching up from the pallet, spilling his seed over his belly and Caranthir’s hand. The elf soaked in every single reaction - from the wide open eyes, staring into nothingness, the clenched fists, the hard muscles of the Witcher’s thighs that were trembling under the stress to the still twitching cock in the elf’s hand - and put the memories carefully away. Nobody else so far had been so beautiful in their pain and desire. 

Letting the Witcher’s still half-hard cock go, he took out his own. He was already slick with pre-cum and it took him only a few strokes of his hand, that was still covered in the seed of the Witcher, to come himself and spill himself over the man in front of him. With a deep, satisfied moan he saw how his hot seed mixed with the Witcher’s and how he had marked him.

Feeling boneless, Caranthir sank down onto the pallet. The Vatt’ghern was still trembling with the aftershocks his brain sent through his body. Lifting his hand, the Aen Elle let his hand slide gently over his skin, seeing the muscles twitch under his touch. 

He knew that Eredin would want his pet Witcher back soon. But in a few days the man would be back in his tower, hanging from the chain and Caranthir would get to taste his blood again.  
He smiled and placed a gentle kiss on the Witcher’s shoulder at that thought.


End file.
